


overwhelmed

by juicymats



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Gen, Post Game, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, erm its just....all saihara, implied suicidal thoughts, ouma maki and yumeno briefly mentioned, self harm implied as well its very brief though, virtual reality au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 10:51:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12505752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juicymats/pseuds/juicymats
Summary: The quiet is better for everyone.





	overwhelmed

**Author's Note:**

> this is kinda off my first fic june just in saihara's kinda pov? i wanted to write about his behavior after waking up and all.
> 
> not much happening but ...ahh.  
> tired....

Silence.

All of the world set in a perpetual state of quiet. The only things that were heard were the sounds of the wind blowing every now and then, and the faint buzzing of insects gathered nearby. The world seemed so tiny from the breathtaking view the mountain gave it.  
  
Saihara sits on a bench, next to his new permanent home for the next....well. However long he needed it to be. Forever, maybe. Maybe he would die here, alone. As it should be. The lonely cliffside served as a tucked away place, hidden from society. It also served as an alternative option in case he ever needed it.

No disturbances. No rabid, invasive fangirls. No press, desperate to get anything out of him. No attention. They couldn't reach him here. No one would ever reach him here.

Waking up to the oppressive attention of millions of people was more than overwhelming. Saihara, ranking number one on the popularity poll was a lot more than overwhelming.

Everyone, they loved him. They loved him too much. It felt wrong. He got out alive only to be praised and worshipped as if he wasn't even a human being. He felt dirty after surviving and everyone showering him with their false love only made him feel dirtier. The grime and dirt collecting under his nails proved he couldn't take care of himself. He was alive, and that was wrong.

His new home was nothing too grand. A small, ranch styled home with exactly one bedroom. One of everything, because he was the only one there. He would stay being the only resident in that house. No one would come here. He didn't want them to. He wasn't good enough. He never was.

Saihara had resolved to seperate himself from the rest of them ever since the beginning. Being awoken to the hectic and panicked atmosphere was a lot to take in. He had hardly properly taken in what happened in the killing game before cracking under the weight of society's unwavering attention.

Social media swamped within a day of waking up, people, people, people, too many people. They wanted to tear Saihara apart. He stopped checking after an hour of sitting on that atrocious account. He vaguely recalled looking at himself in a mirror, only seeing a disgustingly anxious yet unsettling smile, with eyes boring into him with glee.

A bloodied hand glittered with shattered glass greeted the inhumane scientists, as they quickly resolved to patch up the mess.

Yumeno and Harukawa, the ones who survived with him. The ones who woke up with him. His dear friends. He didn't want to leave them. He needed them. They could ground him.

With this train of thought, he knew the one and only truth of this matter. He had to leave them. Clinging to them so forcefully would only hurt them. The raven haired boy could only see the obsessive Danganronpa fan he once was, the desire for murder and hurt. The desire to escape that boring and mudane reality.

He had seen what that fantasy had created within him. A dirty, dirty disease. Like tar, this disease spilled through his skin, leaked into his behavior and gave his other self the euphoria of embracing his ever growing need to end his uneventful and monotonous life.

Yumeno had asked him why. He said you don't need to deal with me. Yumeno told him they weren't just "dealing" with him. He said you don't understand. She said they did. He said I don't want to be here anymore and I can't stay with either of you. Yumeno didn't say anything anymore.

It was for the best. He was right. If he had hesitated in his decision any longer than he would have stayed, and they would all cling to each other until they had nothing to cling onto anymore. Then, they would die. His decision is correct. His theory is sound. His deduction is the pure unadulterated truth.

Being alone was correct. He made friends with the disgusting mess in the mirror. He learned loneliness. He stayed in this house each and everyday, only leaving to get what little groceries he needed to sustain himself. He cut his hair sloppily whenever it got too long for him to feel like himself. He only showered when he could feel the dirt crawling around on his skin.

Sleep, sleep, sleep. He slept. Sleeping was like dying, only for a little while. He lost count of each and every nightmare he's had, but he never stopped sleeping. The gross heat that enveloped him everytime he wrapped the covers around himself had become something of a comfort.

His small home was left unintruded upon, though. He had picked the perfect place. The next town over was one never acknowledged, and only those looking for a long hike would really find the place. He relished in the long lasting silence of his days there. Everyone in the entire world would leave him alone there.

Yet, he found his heart aching.

Aching for what, he did not know.

Or maybe he did know, and he just didn't want to acknowledge it. The now much more apparent silence stretches across the horizon, not even the wind responding this time. The comforting silence had twisted into a miserable one. The sudden chattering from his once lively classmates was something he so longingly missed.

It's better this way, he said. He didn't need to be surrounded by them. Their company, their belief in him. It all felt wrong, yet he wanted it so much. He resolved to forget these feelings, as they were unneeded. All he needed to do was sleep. Sleep and he'll forget--

And so he did.

The bench is soiled and damp, the result of a previous shower on another day. Suddenly, he feels a bit cold. The wind picks up, and he vaguely recalls the darkened sky earlier. It was going to rain.

Saihara lets himself back in. He had to rest.

 

.

 

The sticky heat Saihara wakes up to is certainly unpleasant. He hasn't showered in two weeks. The once barren ceiling had decided to house some dark spots. He has to clean his sheets. The pile of dishes are to be done. He has to get more food.

The only motivation he clings to for these tasks is the fact that if he doesn't, he is afraid what kind of thoughts he'll be left with. Getting out of bed, he searches the floor for something to wear. He decides on some old sweater and trackpants. He doesn't even bother with the binder, the extra layer of a jacket will work for now.

Setting out to buy cleaning supplies and extra food, he picks out a beanie he uses to effectively cover his hair. With the cold weather, the disguise will look nothing out of the ordinary. The trek down the mountain takes quite the walk, and he definitely wasn't fit, but he does it anyways.

The walk down is usually always refreshing to him. The cool air helps as well, as his home is stuffy and hot most of the time. He takes in the scenery, relishing in the rare moment of peace in the silence. The area he had chosen proved effective, as he hadn't seen a single soul of a person until he reached the nearby small town.

The town wasn't tightknit, but it was big enough where not everyone around the marketplace knew each other. It was easy being there without seeming like he was a stranger to everyone there. Some people do recognize him, though, from his visits to stores he goes to everytime for supplies. The clerks greet him, he nods, takes what he needs and gets out.

He's aware some people know that someone lives on the mountain. The rumors are plentiful, but none of them paint him as someone bad. Only mysterious. Saihara accepts the role easily, as long as they didn't know or care that he was the number one most popular "character" on Danganronpa's last season, he was content.

He had chosen this location based solely on the population. The small town had a very measely number, but not too small where it would be odd if he was there. It worked out nicely, and people rarely came up the mountain. The occasional mischevious group of rowdy kids wanting to uncover the secrets of the mysterious stranger came by, but no one invasive.

Taking what he needed, sprays and towels, he moves on to the food aisle of the supermarket. Bread, eggs, ramen, and milk. That was all on the mental list he had made in his head. That will be enough. It just needs to hold him over for another week.

Occasionally, his small selection of food items become a mountain of snacks and junk. After a particularly bad day, he wouldn't be able to make something normally. He used these days to just snack endlessly, all day. It did nothing good for his stomach when this happened, but he paid it no mind.

After gathering what he needed, he steps into to calm of the town again, and takes it all in. The faint conversations he can hear fill the air, as well as distinct flowery aromas from certain shops. The mood is nice. The air is gentle. The cold air is soothing.

He takes a deep breathe, before taking the path that took him back home. A little boy hangs outside one of the shops, and waves at Saihara. Saihara waves back.

He turns again.

Upon returning back, he sets to cleaning the much needed areas of cleaning. The kitchen, the stove, the endless dishes. The distraction is welcome, though, as he scrubs and scrubs. It is refreshing, seeing the once dirtied surfaces shine.

Saihara likes to think he's done a good job, giving the place a good cleaning. His thoughts seem a bit clearer, and he feels a vague sense of accomplishment. It's clean. He knows it will get dirty again. It's unfortunate, but if it does, he'll just try his best in cleaning it again.

The dishes stare back at him with a newfound shimmer, and he finds himself getting into the rhythm of cleaning the house. The dining table, the counters, the cabinets, even the accumulating dust in his own room. He decides his sheets would do for a good cleaning as well, and places them in the washer he rarely uses.

The gentle whirring of the washer is calming to the ears, and he finishes up his dusting task. With a wipe to his forehead, he busies himself with putting materials away. Taking a look around, he nods to himself. The musty smell has lifted significantly, and it feels much less stuffy. The improvement marks his day complete.

His sheets are still in the washer, but he lies down on the mattress anyway. The ceiling still had giant stains in it, but they were messes that were hard to deal with, when he's so far away from it. Grabbing a nearby extra pillow, he clings to it as if it were a person, or stuffed animal. The comfort is needed for a semi peaceful rest.

He naps.

The next time he wakes up, his sheets are placed in the dryer, ready to be warmed up for another nap.

The next time he wakes up after that, he makes himself a small but acceptable breakfast, something to eat before another nap.

The next time he wakes up after that, he spots a familiar purple haired boy eating a breakfast all alone, on the lonely dining table.

The day was almost a surreal one. Waking up peacefully, with no night terror to recall, he scans his own room. Nothing odd, nothing different. Saihara checks his alarm. Five in the morning. The sheets smell fresh, and he didn't wake up excessively sweaty.

Curious, he tentatively climbs down the stairs, making loud creaks and sounds reverberate through the wood. He catches a whiff of a significantly sweet scent in the air. Turning the corner, it takes a moment to truly take in the sight.

Silence.

The serene silence of company.

Saihara was hungry.

Subtly nodding to himself, he walks towards the table, and sits across from his friend. He takes a bite. It was delicious. It was even more delicious, because he had someone to share it with.

The silence is comforting and calming. He feels so much at once, he wants to say so many things, so many thoughts yet he believes the most important thing right now was to eat with Ouma.

**Author's Note:**

> (i hope the metaphors i was trying to make were clear to see...)
> 
> thanks so much if you've read. means a lot!


End file.
